


Refuge in Stone

by YellowMagicalGirl



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Camelot (Tales of Arcadia), F/M, Female Reader, Gift Fic, Going by Trollhunters canon Gunmar is OOC, Gray-Aromantic Character, Gray-Aromantic Gunmar, He doesn't act like he wants to eat people, I forget if he wanted to eat people in Wizards, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Love Confessions, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Reader-Insert, Series: Wizards (Tales of Arcadia), Tales of Arcadia Secret Santa 2020, wizard reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMagicalGirl/pseuds/YellowMagicalGirl
Summary: You are a wizard whose magic has been discovered by the people of your village. You are offered refuge by a Gumm-Gumm you meet in the Wild Wood.
Relationships: Gunmar (Tales of Arcadia)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Refuge in Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AussieTransfan2015](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AussieTransfan2015/gifts).



> This was written as a gift for theragingtransfan on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it; this was the first time I've ever written a second person fanfic.

You run as fast as your feet would take you. Your chest and throat ache with each breath you try to pull into your lungs, but still you keep on running. You don’t dare to look behind yourself, scared of who you would see chasing you. Angry voices of the mob shout your name and insults, but the sound of your feet and heartbeat both pounding away prevent you from making out any individual voices.

Some small voice in the back of your head demands that you stop running, that you retaliate against them. Make the very earth turn against them. After all, they want you dead. Why not wish them the same?

But you can’t, not when you know that your friends and family are in the crowd. Or at least, the people that _you_ had considered to be your friends and family. They considered you to be a loved one before, but they’ll deny it now. Why would anyone love a wizard?

You still love them despite this.

You try to run faster. You are on the edge of the Wild Wood. It is inhabited by trolls and other dangerous magical creatures, but it’s not like you are safe in your village. They think that you are a dangerous magical creature, and perhaps you _belong_ in the Wild Wood. Perhaps you will be safe there.

But then, you trip over a root. A dry, fallen branch cracks and stabs into your knees. Before you can recover, a large troll walks out from the shadows of the trees. He is broad-chested, and if he were human you would call him muscular, but you are unsure if trolls even _have_ muscles. He has terrifyingly large horns, and he gazes down at you with one angry glowing blue eye.

“Why are you here, human?” he growls at you. You open your mouth to speak, but you close it once more in fear. You peel your fingers from where they had made a white-knuckled fist in your skirt, and you pick up a clod of dirt. You focus on it, your eyes narrowing so much that you can see your eyebrows. The clod of dirt glows and shifts, compressing in on itself until it has become a crude diamond.

“Ah,” the troll says, his voice a fraction softer. “So, you’re a wizard, then. Couldn’t hide it, could you?”

You shake your head, wincing as the sounds of the mob draw nearer.

“There she… is…” says one of your former friends, carrying a shovel. The troll you have met roars at them, and they step away from you.

“This wizard is under _my_ protection,” the troll says. “We are in the Wild Wood, and you are not permitted here. _Leave.”_

They do so, though probably not because they respect the troll. While King Arthur’s laws protect the non-magical people, you doubt that the king will send his knights to avenge trespassing peasants.

When the last of the mob clears away, the troll turns to you, extending one glowing blue claw to help you rise to your feet. “I am Gunmar, leader of the Gumm-Gumms who protect these woods. You are under my protection; may I have your name?”

You have heard of the dangers of giving magical creatures your name, but you have only heard these tales about faeries and the occasional wizard, never about a troll. And so, after catching your breath, you give your name to Gunmar.

“Thank you,” you say, despite how much it still hurts to speak. You think you see him smile.

It has been two years since you joined Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms. While Gunmar did try to find a home for you with one of the itinerant covens of hedge wizards, none would take you in. And therefore, you have become the only human in the Gumm-Gumm warband.

Adjusting had been difficult. Your family had never been truly rich, and you had calluses on your fingers and feet even before your magic had been revealed, but you had also been the daughter of a merchant, preparing to marry your favorite of your father’s choices for you. You have gone hungry more often than you ever did back home. You have been cold, and your dress is patchy and threadbare under the armor that you now wear.

At first, you were scared. You had lost everything, and you had heard that trolls would eat mere humans. But you are no mere human. You are a powerful wizard with an affinity for stone. This has earned you Gunmar’s favor, and the respect of most of the Gumm-Gumms. Not the respect of Gunmar’s son. He resents you, claims that your presence is going to cause his father to lose his edge one day. You wonder if he realizes your feelings for his father, but you know that what Bular fears would never come to pass. A human and a troll, nay, even a wizard and a troll are too different. The most you could ever hope to be is Gunmar’s friend, and even then you are probably hoping too far past what you could ever fully achieve.

It doesn’t matter. You enjoy Gunmar’s company, and he is fine with yours. The two of you are currently patrolling the edges of the Wild Wood, making sure that no human comes in and attacks magic’s refuge. Or, alternatively, to give refuge to another wizard such as yourself. You use your magic to smooth and dry the ground; it has been raining a lot lately and you would rather not get too much mud on your shoes and the hem of your dress. It had been such a pretty pale blue, and even though it’s more of a grey now you still would prefer for it to not become brown.

You watch a cart pass by. A low growl escapes Gunmar’s throat. Too many merchants have taken the road right next to the Wild Wood in the past month. You think it’s hubris on the part of the merchants. Gunmar thinks it is Arthur trying to goad him into a war.

You swallow. The horse looks like Rosewillow, the old horse that your father has been using to transport goods to the city since you were a baby. She has the same markings. The merchant sitting on the cart is hooded. You bite your lip, praying that he isn’t who you think he is.

The merchant pulls on the reins for the horse to stop. The road has been washed out. The merchant turns. Perhaps he is turning around, going back to see if there is a fork in the road?

No. He turns to take a shortcut through the wood. And as he turns, you see his face. You haven’t seen that face in two years. You would know that face anywhere. It is a face whose memory you miss and curse every day.

Gunmar stands, ready to rush at your father. Rush at the human invader of the wood.

“Father!” you call out. He looks up, and he leaps from the cart to Rosewillow, unhitching her and riding away.

“He abandoned you, and you turn against me to _aid_ him? Why didn’t you strike him down when you had the chance?” Gunmar asks you, his hands curling into fists. There is rage in his stance as he walks towards you. Rage, and frustration.

“Because I love him almost as much as I love you!” You cover your mouth right after the words leave your lips. Then you turn around and _run._

You are much better at running than you were two years ago. You ran a much greater distance than you did back then, and you used your magic to help you get away, but even still you need to sit down and rest. You can only hope that Gunmar will not find you too soon. Your safety, your position with the Gumm-Gumms, is dependent upon having Gunmar’s favor. And you have lost it. You have shown that you still have familial loyalty to your father. You have shown that you have feelings for the warlord, feelings that would make him uncomfortable at best and at worst revolted enough to make your death slow and painful.

You have caught your breath when Gunmar finds you.

“May I sit?” Gunmar asks, gesturing to one of the large boulders. You nod.

“I am disappointed, that you spared the human that turned you away. He may have been sent here as a distraction, and he may try to sneak into our wood once more. However, the cart can still be liberated as supplies.”

“I see.” Your words are stiff. Emotionless, even though you want to cry.

“You said that you love me?” he asks. You nod, ignoring how hot your head feels. You haven’t felt this panicked since your mother caught you using your magic instead of a broom to sweep. “How?”

“Romantically.”

“I see.” Gunmar lets out a frustrated growl, and you try not to flinch. “I… it took me far too long to know I felt. The same way about you. I haven’t felt this way about anyone else, so I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Bular, did you not love his mother?” The words feel foolish as you say them. Human lords don’t so often marry for love so much as they do peace and mercantile options. Even you had more choice in who you married, and you only had the choice from the suitors that your father had picked for you and not anyone else you may have fancied from your village. Gunmar is a lord, and if troll customs of marriage and lineage are anything like human ones then his partnership with Bular’s mother would have at least started as a marriage of convenience.

“Trolls do not need to have strictly two parents donate their living stone to create a whelp. I’ve heard of at most five trolls contributing to the creation of a single whelp. But, Bular has no mother, nor second father nor anyone else. I am his only parent.” Gunmar looks down and to his side. “If the rumors are true, he had more parents donate living stone to his creation than I had.”

In any other tone and context, it would sound like a boast. Gunmar the Black, so mighty that he didn’t even have parents; he just sprung out of the Heartstone fully formed! But here and now, it is just making himself vulnerable.

“I do not know what human customs are to go from here on out, nor am I versed in ones that trolls use. However, I would still like to enter a romantic partnership with you.”

Your lips curl into a smile. “And I, too, would like to court you, Gunmar the Black.”


End file.
